Saving Souls
by W. A. Ravensdale
Summary: I didn't have much to live for anymore, but I needed to feel something. I craved any emotion at all, because without it, I felt like I was on the brink of insanity. Christmas A2A. Based on amygerrard's prompt.


**SAVING SOULS**

_**Oneshot**_

_by W. A. Ravensdale_

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Written for A2A Christmas exchange on _livejournal_ hosted by the one and only **_badboysarebest. _**_  
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**_amygerrard_**'s prompt: Elena's life is falling apart around her, the reasons why are up to you, and she feels like she can't go on any longer. (Think Elena with her emotions turned off.) It's Christmas and she's decided to end it all but then she meets Damon. Sometimes strangers can change your life forever.

As always, I have to thank **_RunningInAir_ **for her amazing beta skills, and also **_amygerrard_** for her prompt and **_badboysarebest_** for giving me the chance to write this oneshot!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.**

My twitter: **_WARavensdale_**

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_"It's always too soon to quit!" _

― Norman Vincent Peale

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_**Elena**_

I never knew what my purpose was in life. Everyone around me had these big dreams and plans and things to feel excited about, but not me. I was always the odd one, the one that never truly fit into the crowd. Most people grew up, always changing and maturing, but also staying true to what made them the way they were. I never really had that. I could never find myself, no matter where, or how hard, I looked.

When my parents were still alive, I never felt alone. I was lonely, and I often thought nobody understood me, but never _alone_ – I just blamed the teenage years for that. I told myself that everyone went through such a phase at a certain point in life, and that it would pass eventually. It never did, but at least when I still had my mom and dad, I was never truly alone. They were always there if I needed them. Turns out, I took that for granted.

After the horrible car accident that left my little brother, Jeremy, and I orphaned, I thought things couldn't get worse. I was sixteen, utterly lost, and in a millisecond my life had turned upside down. Jeremy lost himself in drugs, and sometimes I envied him that – at least he had something that soothed the pain we both had to carry with us. Our aunt, Jenna, literally dropped everything and rushed to Mystic Falls to take care of us, and as much as I was grateful for her and loved her, I sometimes wish she had been more selfish. I wish she wouldn't have taken us in. Maybe if she hadn't been so self-sacrificing, she'd still be alive. Maybe Jeremy would still be alive, as well.

But it wasn't really Jenna's fault, far from it. I'm the one who should carry the guilt as I was the reason everyone dear to me had either left or died. Maybe I'm cursed, or maybe I've done something terrible in a past life. I can't think of anything else that could have caused this horrible fate.

Jeremy's death was the last push I needed to completely close off, to shut out every single person around me, and to stop caring altogether. My friends tried to bring me back from my self-induced isolation. For years, they attempted to get me to talk, to laugh, or to even just live. Because I wasn't living, not really. I only existed. Still, that's all I do.

In the end, they didn't succeed, and after enough time, the world forgot about the poor, orphaned Elena, and as they always do, people moved on. The people I once called friends gave up on me and continued with their lives. Most of them moved away to college, and some of them just decided I wasn't worth their time anymore. I never could blame them.

I don't feel anything anymore. My heart stopped aching years ago, and now everything is just numb. I'm numb, empty, hollow... I don't really do much nowadays. I eat very little, I don't go out anymore, and I don't sleep longer than a few hours a night.

In the beginning, I welcomed this indifference with open arms, desperate to forget the pain and sorrow that were threatening to consume me from within. I felt so relieved once I stopped caring, once nothing and nobody could get me to feel anything at all anymore, but as the years flew by, feeling nothing became crueler than the agony. I didn't have much to live for anymore, but I _needed_ to feel something. I craved any emotion at all, because without it, I felt like I was on the brink of insanity.

Even physical pain didn't hurt as much as it used to. I have scars to prove that. It did make me feel something, though, even if it was just for that split second when the sharp razor slid over my tender skin, tearing the tissue apart. I became addicted to it, to that euphoric feeling that flooded through me when I saw the first few droplets of blood gather in the wound. At first, the cuts were shallow, just barely visible, but it soon wasn't enough. It was like an addiction, pulling me closer to feeling anything with each stroke of the razor. It was like an addiction I never got over.

Feeling something has been my goal for years now. Sad, huh?

That's why I'm here right now, with my back resting against the hard rock under the Wickery Bridge – ironically the same place where all of this began. There's a small lining of grass and rock that separates the streaming river and the construction, hidden away from the headlights of the few cars that drive by. I know the water is freezing cold, it is Christmas after all, and I'm not exactly trying to jump in and take my life – I'm trying to fight. I have this sick thought that if I bring myself to that edge, where I'll be forced to either fight for my life or welcome the end, I may chose the first option. And if not, then so be it.

I like it here, hidden away – I don't want anyone to interrupt me.

Taking another swing of the top-shelf bourbon in my hand, I longingly glance at the small, metal razor in my other hand. Twisting it around, I watch the moonlight illuminate on the smooth surface, knowing that in a matter of minutes, it will no longer be so smooth.

I just don't care anymore.

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_**Damon**_

For the hundredth time this evening, I curse myself for listening to my brooding, baby brother. I have no idea how he managed to convince me to come back to this god forsaken town, and yet here I am, passing the 'Welcome to Mystic Falls' sign with disdain. Every inch of me is nagging at me to turn around, telling me there's absolutely nothing for me here, but I promised Stefan I would at least wait for his arrival. I may be a ruthless vampire, but I am a man of my word.

A shudder runs through my body as I speed down the empty road. I don't like this feeling, at all; and I'm hungry. I haven't fed since I left Chicago hours ago, which I now realize wasn't very smart. I'm very grumpy and easily irritated – even more so than usual – when I'm hungry, and coming back to Mystic Falls has put me on edge as it is. I contemplate on stopping at the local bar to find myself a cute waitress, but I decide against it – I just want to find that damned boarding house of ours already and sleep until Steffy arrives. I'm perfectly aware that it will take him days, if not weeks, to get here from his spiritual path in India or wherever he is right now, especially since he refuses to travel by plane. I know he gets edgy and anxious when stuck with people for hours, but come on…it's not like he's going to eat the pilot or something…well, maybe.

With the roof of my Camaro convertible folded back, I let the soft, winter breeze thread its fingers through my hair, relishing the feeling of freedom – ironically so, since coming back to Mystic Falls has made me feel anything but free. It's dark already, but with my heightened vision, the full moon high in the sky is the only light I need to see perfectly clearly. I'm quickly nearing the old Wickery Bridge.

Trees surround the road on both sides, and the air is so fresh I can't help but inhale deeply. Maybe it will cleanse away the polluted Chicago air from my lungs. Not that I really need healthy lungs or anything, but still. That's when my nose catches the scent of something sweeter and more alluring than all the fresh air combined in this world. Blood. Lots of blood.

The closer to the bridge I get, the stronger the smell becomes, but it's not just blood that I smell. Bourbon and a woman's perfume are mingling with the blood – my three favorite things in this world. I wouldn't have spared it a second thought if the whole situation wasn't so odd, and my head just can't wrap around it. There's a drunk, bleeding woman somewhere nearby, and from what I can gather, she's still alive. I can hear her shallow breathing from up here, but there's no other sound coming from her, and considering she must be bleeding pretty badly from the freshness of the blood, she is either unconscious or too drunk to notice the pain, which I sincerely doubt.

I have no idea why, but I stop the car once I cross the bridge and get out, groaning loudly at the sudden curiosity and the need to find out what's happening. I let my nose lead the way, and soon I see a body of a young woman uncomfortably resting against a pointy rock with her head lulled to the side. The first two things I notice are how dangerously close to the water she is and how extremely underweight she seems. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five, give or take a year, but her body was the size of an under-weight sixteen-year-old at best.

Her breathing is uneven, and I know she's not sleeping because it's far too irregular, and considering most of the bourbon is now quenching the grass from an over-turned bottle, I know she isn't that drunk either. Then my eyes skip to her wrists, and a shaky gasp leaves my mouth as my memories take me far back to when I found my mother in almost the same position more than a hundred and sixty years ago.

There's so much blood I'm surprised that wasn't the first thing I noticed. It's still slowly pouring out of the wounds, which shows they are still fresh, and I'm suddenly at a complete loss as to what I should do. It's pretty obvious she had done this to herself, and why should I help her if she clearly doesn't want to live? I'm not a damn hero; that's Stefan's job!

But then a soft, heartbreaking moan escapes her lips, and I'm a goner. She's freezing. My legs carry me towards her on their own accord, and I curse myself silently for letting my baby brother convince me to turn my emotions back on. It has been less than a month since those pesky things came rushing back into me, and a vampire is always the weakest shortly after flipping the switch. That's why I'm deciding to help her – that's what I tell myself, anyway.

It's hard for me to control my bloodlust at the sight of so much blood, even though I consider myself pretty much in control when it comes to those cravings. As I come closer, I notice the pink scars all over her forearms. I wonder who she is, and what happened to her. What caused such a beautiful young woman to turn to self-harm in such a total way?

Her head is lulled to the side so I can't see her face, but I know she's beautiful anyway. How could she not be? Her brown hair is tied into a messy bun, and she looks…abandoned. It's obvious that she has no one in her life to impress, not even herself, but she's still radiating beauty. I hear her already-weak heartbeat slow down, and I'm not sure what to do now. If I give her my blood and she dies, I will have a suicidal newbie running around, and I certainly don't need another vampire unable to resist blood on top of my brother. I'm no babysitter.

Despite that, I can't just leave her here. I refuse to. So, I crouch down and bite into my wrist before bringing my hand to her chin, and I gently turn her head towards me. I was right; she's gorgeous, even with being so skinny. Her cheekbones are standing out dangerously, and there are unhealthy bags under her closed eyes, but she still has round cheeks, and I just know she'd look much better if she ate something and warmed up a bit . She's horribly pale – partly from the cold and partly from the blood loss.

Droplets of blood are sliding from my wrist and reminding me of what I was about to do. I bring my hand to her blue lips, urging her to open her mouth. "Come on, drink up," I nudge, and I sigh when I feel her lips moving. She comes to and tries to push my arm away with her lips, but I don't let her, and she eventually gives up. It's too hard for her to even raise her arms to push me away, and I realize she's weaker than I thought. My blood flows into her mouth, and I glance at her wrists, happy to see her wounds start to heal moments after she swallows.

Her eyes snap open and her chocolate brown orbs lock with mine for a second. If I didn't know better, I would have thought she was a vampire, because her eyes look so completely empty, so emotionless that it reminds me of the way my eyes looked when I lost my humanity. I know humans can't turn off their emotions, but I swear to whatever god is out there that this beautiful woman has done just that. She's completely empty. Before I can say anything, her eyes fall closed again, and her breathing evens. She's asleep.

Once again, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now. I know nothing about her, and considering the state she's in, I sincerely doubt she has anyone that cares for her. It sucks, but I can't exactly make that go away, can I? I could take her to a hospital, but then I remember I have no idea how to explain her unnaturally-healed wounds. I contemplate on dropping her off in rehab, but compelling the whole board and staff is too much work, so I decide to take her home for the night and figure everything else out in the morning.

I pick her up bridal-style, frowning at how little effort it takes to lift her. Even with me having supernatural strength and all, it shouldn't be so easy. She's shivering against me, and even though the cold doesn't affect me anymore, I know the temperatures are very low. It was even supposed to snow today. I speed towards my car, laying her down on the backseats before I lift the roof and turn on the heating. Opening the trunk, I fish out a blanket and tuck her in, yet again cursing myself and my stupid emotions. I shouldn't care.

It has gotten quite warmer, but she's still shaking, and I know there's not much I can do about that right here, so I turn the key in the ignition and speed down the road on the way to the old Salvatore boarding house.

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_**Elena**_

The first thing I notice when I drift back to conscience is the incredibly soft surface I'm lying on. I know this isn't my bed, because my bed hasn't felt this comfortable since the night my parents died, but I can't remember hooking up with anybody. When I come to think of it, I can't really remember much since I slit my wrists under that cruel bridge. Where am I?

Despite the fact that nothing makes sense, I can't help but snuggle further into the soft covers, inhaling deeply. The soft pillow smells of men's cologne, shampoo, and slightly of bourbon. It's nice.

I should be afraid. I should be wary and suspicious, but I'm not. I'm just confused. I don't know how I got here, wherever here even is, and I don't really care. I know that I'm still alive, and that kind of disappoints me and makes me sigh in relief at the same time. It's strange.

After a few minutes, I finally decide I may as well figure out where I am and how I got here. Groggily opening my eyes, I'm quick to discover I'm in an old house, a big – judging from the sight of this room alone – house. The furniture is dark wood, and it looks well-aged, to say the least. I still have no idea where exactly I am or who brought me here.

Reflectively glancing down at my wrists, I can't help but gasp loudly at the lack of blood and wounds. There is only one explanation – vampire blood. When I turned thirteen my dad decided it was time for me to hear the awful truth about all the things that went bumping into the night, but I've never actually met or saw any of those creatures before. My dad told me one day that vampire blood had healing properties, and I know there's no way my wounds would just heal so quickly by themselves, which has me even more confused than ever. Nothing makes sense. Why did a vampire save me?

Shouldn't the panic and fear step in yet? Apparently, I'm even more fucked up than I thought.

I don't really have time to dwell on my fucked-up-ness, because there's a sound just outside the wooden door, and my head snaps in that direction. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door, but it doesn't scare me – it merely intrigues me.

The door creeps open, and for the first time in almost a decade, my heart skips a beat as my eyes lock with a pair of the most incredible blue orbs I've ever seen.

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